


Beneath Layers

by musicforswimming



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Frottage, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-23
Updated: 2003-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 21:33:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicforswimming/pseuds/musicforswimming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rivendell frottage, because why not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath Layers

He kisses Arwen's hair, her neck, her shoulder, while Aragorn rubs against her from the front, but like the Elf, Boromir is entranced by the other man. There is a peace on his face in these moments, and Boromir wonders if it might not be the reason that Arwen likes to watch the two Men as much as she enjoys being involved in their coupling.  
  
The stones of Rivendell's paths are warmed by their feet, and its night air is light and cool and dry on them. Arwen and Aragorn have set a complicated rhythm, and Arwen leans against Boromir who leans against the wall behind him and finds that he comes the closest to making some sense of their motions when he gives up trying to make any sense of them.  
  
It is Aragorn's face that fascinates him, that pulls at him ceaselessly, despite the considerable distraction provided by the celestially beautiful she-elf whose body is thrust against his own.  
  
The Ranger is not yet sweating, for Imladris's air is cool, of course, but his breathing is heavy, heavier than Boromir has heard it in any sparring match. His worn coat offers both himself and Arwen some cover, and her skirts are thin, so thin that Boromir can feel every line of her body beneath the gauzy Elf-made stuff.  
  
They must make a strange tangle of limbs -- one of his own hands gripping at Arwen's hip and the other clutching Aragorn's coat, like a drowning man holding fast to his two rescuers. Arwen's arms are at her sides, but her hands are turned backwards, and she grabs at Boromir's clothes. Aragorn, too, holds tight to the other Man, though he goes through the motions of fucking Arwen, and, eyes narrowed with lust, leans over Arwen to kiss Boromir fiercely and clumsily. Their teeth crash together, scrape each other's tongues, and Boromir realizes in that instant that he, too, is going through the motions of coupling with Arwen, rubbing against her ass as though the movements might melt away the layers of cloth between their skin.  
  
Aragorn begins to speak in Elvish, then stops, and looks at Boromir with a faintly apologetic glance. "I must have you both," he whispers in the Common Tongue, in a voice harsh with lust.  
  
Arwen makes a faint noise of agreement, turning her head to kiss Boromir's throat. "Your room is nearest, love," she says to Aragorn.  
  
The lust is plain on Aragorn's face, but there is something that fascinates Boromir to his face as well. For all that the other man was glancing about for movement, listening for approaching footsteps, there is a kind of  **calm**  there, a peace.  
  
Boromir recognizes it, and the realization makes something inside of him jerk -- that same quality is on Aragorn's face whenever he is alone with either of his lovers now. It is something that suggest that during the moments when he is with them, there is nothing to be concerned with in all the world.  
  
It is something that is given equally to Arwen and Boromir, and the idea of what it might be, this calm that endures even now, as he shoves Boromir against the door of his room and begins kissing the other man with a hunger that is anything but pure, is quite possibly the most enduringly, terrifyingly beautiful idea that Boromir has ever had.


End file.
